


When Memory is erased

by Wizards_Pupil



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crime, Friendship, Legal, Loneliness, Longing, M/M, Missing Family, Nightmares, Romance, Slash, Uncertainty, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:26:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizards_Pupil/pseuds/Wizards_Pupil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life was nothing like the video games he’d played, the movies he’d seen, or the books he’d read.</p><p>It was one of the first, and only thoughts, that really passed through Thorin’s head as he backed further into the shadows, with Bilbo’s teeth scraping against his palm, until his back hit the bricks of the building behind them.</p><p>The gunman doesn’t pause in locking his gun again and slipping it into his pocket before he walks towards the body and the shadows that Thorin and Bilbo were hiding in.  The shooter drew nearer and Thorin couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t a plea to any God that they wouldn’t be seen. </p><p>They weren’t. The shooter looked down at his target, and then turned his back on them and the victim. He jogged out of the alley and left them alone.</p><p>“We have to call the police.” Bilbo murmured and then pulled his cellphone out of his pocket while Thorin nodded in agreement. His heart beat still off, his breath a ragged gasp, and his fingers numb. Bilbo dialed the three digits that everyone had memorized since they were children, and the operator answers.</p><p>Later, he’ll admit that he wished they hadn’t called.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Memory is erased

_“But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget.”_

_― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried_

 

* * *

 

Life was nothing like the video games he’d played, the movies he’d seen, or the books he’d read.

It was one of the first, and only thoughts, that really passed through Thorin Durin’s head as he backed further into the shadows, with Bilbo Baggin’s teeth scraping against his palm, until his back scraped against the bricks of the building behind them.

Life is far more terrifying, and numbing, than any other medium could possibly depict. It’s far more gruesome, and yet, not as gruesome. There is no music to make the moment more terrible, or blood unrealistically gushing from the wound. It was just the dull thud of a body hitting the ground, and then a pool of blood that looked like water on the pavement. The gunman doesn’t pause in locking his gun again and slipping it into his pocket before he walks towards the body and the shadows that Thorin and Bilbo were hiding in.

He hadn’t even wanted to come here. He had been perfectly content to stay at home and continue his studies. Bilbo had been the one to bring him the sign-up sheet. His room mate had always loved social gatherings. They’d started the semester and Bilbo had made it his personal goal to drag Thorin to as many events as he could. The trip to New Jersey had actually sounded exciting. A chance to see some of the historical spots he was studying.

They had decided to explore on the first night they weren’t at a talk, and he had, of course, gotten both of them lost. One wrong turn had turned into another, until they were in a back alley in-who-knew-where- and they were watching a deal gone horribly wrong.

The man in blue- the one that was bleeding out- had been rambling in a language Thorin didn’t know, but he didn’t need to speak it to understand that the man was begging for his life.

The shot was louder than he’d anticipated, and the metallic sound of it translated to the air as well. He could taste it, and it made him nearly hack. His hand shot out to Bilbo who went rigid at his side and clasped over the short man’s mouth. He’d then stumbled backwards into the dark and tried to keep from breathing.

The shooter drew nearer and Thorin couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t a plea to God - any God - that they wouldn’t be seen. That they wouldn’t be shot.

They weren’t. The shooter looked down at his target, nudged him with his foot and then turned his back on them and the victim. He jogged out of the alley and left them alone.

It took several long minutes of shocked, gasping breath before he could move his hand from Bilbo’s mouth, and another few minutes of staring at each other in blank shock before Bilbo spoke.

“We have to call the police.” He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket while Thorin nodded in agreement. His heart beat still off, his breath a ragged gasp, and his fingers numb. Bilbo dialed the three digits that everyone had memorized since they were children, and the operator answers.

Later, he’d admit that he wished they hadn’t called.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin stared at the table they were seated at and wondered if he was in shock. The last few days (had it been days?) were a blur that he couldn’t full piece together. The agents in front of him didn’t seem to care if he couldn’t fully comprehend because they hadn’t stopped talking.

Agent Cotton and Eorling, and that was one of the only things he fully knew, their names, were passing them papers to sign.

They hadn’t just seen a murder, apparently. The shooter, whose face Thorin knew without a shadow of a doubt he would never forget, was a much wanted member of a gang. The police had not been able to believe that two brave -though Thorin would later use a different word- men had seen the crime and were willing to testify of it.

And because he was so wanted, he had power and men at his disposal. They were in danger now, and were going to be put in witness protection to protect themselves from the man they had seen.

His life, everything he knew, was now gone. It would only be Bilbo and him. They said that it would be too ‘dangerous’ to move his entire family, but Thorin knew the truth. He had grown up with businessmen. It was far cheaper to move two than ten.

So he sat numbly while the agents rambled on and Bilbo took notes at his side.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to join any large clubs. You have to remain under the radar.” Bilbo nodded stiffly and scribbled more down in his little notebook while Thorin tried to get his mind around the fact that he was in Witness Protection.

“Will I be permitted to write?”

“I’m afraid that Bilbo Underhill cannot be published.” Bilbo nodded his head and dropped his gaze back to the paper he was writing on. He traced the spirals that bound it with a trembling finger and swallowed hard. “I understand.”

It took him a few moments to realize when the agent asked him if he understood. He nodded and gripped his knees.

Thorin Oak would take a while to get used to.

-[]-[]-[]-

The new school is a private college, a prestigious one but not as nice as the one he had been attending. He wonderes vaguely if the government is actually paying for him, of if he’s just getting the tuition waived. They’re given to singles next to each other, and the air is heavy. Thorin didn’t remember unpacking, and he hardly feels his feet as they lead him to his first classes. He loses himself to the methodicalness of it the first few days, and then he stays awake late into the night staring at the ceiling.

He tries not to feel the tears streaking down his face as he thinks about his family. He can almost hear his nephew’s laugh mingling with his siblings, and wonders how his father took the news. His dreams are filled with the sound of gunshots, pale faces, and cold eyes.

Bilbo was popular, as expected. He joined the writing club-which consisted of all of ten people-and the mythology club, which had eight. He was constantly asked to join more but always avoided it.

Thorin would watch him tell stories to the others, and listen as he painted characters in distant lands. His eyes would widen and his lips spread in a grin that would make tiny wrinkles appear beside his eyes. He was the best story teller in the groups by far, and Thorin hated that he had to hide his natural talents in such a way.

Thorin joined fencing to have something to do. The physical exertion helped him to keep his mind occupied and to make him exhausted enough that he didn’t stare at his ceiling all night. The motions were familiar enough that he could clear his mind of all thought and just go through the motions.

It was the only time he didn’t have to think.

Bilbo was surprisingly good at acting. Still, it surprised Thorin that no one noticed that Bilbo was clearly trying not to break. His smile never reached his eyes-Thorin could vaguely remember a smile as bright as the sun-or noticed that his laugh was always just short of hysteria. He talked a lot, but never about deep subjects. Thorin himself only really talked to Bilbo.

He could lose himself in studying and doing the best that he could in classes. The books offer an old comfort and the library is a quiet sanctuary that he sought as a balm in the middle of the night when the gunshot was too loud and the room too dark.

He met Bilbo there one night, about a month after they arrived, and the tension he’d been ignoring broke.

“What are  you doing here?” Bilbo asked casually as possible with the fake smile that Thorin hated. “Chemistry?”

“History.” He answered dully, and then he stood up. He had never been one to initiate physical contact - his sister and nephews were addicted to hugs and loved cuddling so he was never wanting for a touch - but he couldn’t ignore the almost dead look in the small man’s eyes. He wrapped him up close and tight and held on. Bilbo stiffened and resisted for a moment before his entire body shuddered and he clung to Thorin. He fit perfectly, his head tucking against Thorin’s chest and his arms wrapping around him.

Tears soaked his shirt as they both sat down on the couch he’d been studying on. He held onto Bilbo as he wept, shook, and mumbled about his cousin. “I know,” Thorin murmured in reply, holding tighter.

He didn’t say it was okay, because it certainly was not, and would not be for a long time.

-[]-[]-[]-

The next night had Bilbo sneaking into his room for another holding and crying fest. It didn’t get mentioned the next day, even when it happened again that night. They never mentioned it, and Thorin didn’t feel any less for it.

Bilbo stayed all night more often than not. Waking up with the soft, small man in his arms almost made the ache lessen, and the soft curls were certainly nicer to wake up to than the memory of blood.

He didn’t question it, and ignored the way that Bilbo always nuzzling his nose into Thorin’s neck when he woke up always made Thorin smile.

After all the longing for his family, the need to see his cousins and friends was so intense it just hurt, and Bilbo understood.  Eventually Thorin even found himself being held instead of holding. He just clung and continued not to mention that either.

-[]-[]-[]-

He took Bilbo to the communal garden one day when the books couldn’t distract him and he wanted to get rid of the frown on Bilbo’s lips. He laughed, a real laugh, and rushed to dig his fingers into the soil.

Thorin had joined him and slowly learned the proper way to plant a potato and how to trim back bushes. He learned that Frodo, Bilbo’s cousin, had turned eight today.

Bilbo had taken the orphaned boy in when he was five, and they had shared a small apartment with their other cousins.

He told Bilbo how his sister had moved back in with him and his brother after her fiance had died in Iraq. She’d brought their two children along with her, and had only just started to smile again. He talked without really knowing why, and planted beans while he did. The soil was soft between his fingers and the smell of earth was heavy in the air. He spoke, breathed deep, and felt better for it.

-[]-[]-[]-

Surprisingly, Bilbo, with his big eyes, curly hair, button nose, and brilliant smile, actually made _it_ more. They were studying ‘The Things they Carried’ which was a little to on-the-mark for Thorin, when Bilbo laid back on the bed. Thorin looked up from his copy of the literature and frowned in confusion as Bilbo pushed the books, notes, and pencils off the bed with his feet. He nudged the bag of chips and snack cakes that he always had around off as well, but more gently. Thorin couldn’t help but be amused and curious.

“Bilbo?”

“Kiss me.” It was an order, and one that Thorin had not actually wanted to fight. He hesitated for only a moment before climbing onto the bed and next to Bilbo. The green eyes focused on him, open, trusting, and full of familiar pain. It was a slow meeting of lips that Bilbo quickly deepened and Thorin let himself be loss in.

He knew that Bilbo only did it because he needed the comfort. To feel connected to someone since everything in their lives had been torn from them and left them free floating in insanity. Thorin was convenient, just a warm body that understood the loss, pain, and confusion. He was simply the logical choice.

He tried to convince himself he didn’t care.

It didn’t become anything more than the kiss and a little petting, Thorin wouldn’t let it, but it made him aware of something he hadn’t known, and just added to the pain of loss.

Dis was always saying he got too attached. 

-[]-[]-[]-

A cupcake was shoved under his nose, nearly getting squished on the book he was trying to translate. He blinked at the blue iced, green sprinkle covered cake and frowned in confusion. Bilbo stood in front of him with a soft, sad little smile and rocked on his heels.

“Happy Birthday.” He murmured quietly and Thorin frowned.

“My birthday-”

“Is today.” Bilbo insisted as he squeezed himself beside Thorin on the plush chair that was tucked away in the back of the library. It was threadbare but Thorin’s favorite because it looked like the one that Dis had spilt a raspberry shake on when she was five. Frerin had cried and it had taken Thorin covering the spot with a pillow to make him calm down.

There was hardly room on the chair for two, but Thorin enjoyed being pressed against the smaller man.  

“I don’t care what fake date they gave you. I know today is really it. So enjoy. I’ve got the other dozen hidden in your room.” He smiled and peeled the wrapping off another blue cupcake while Thorin considered the one in his hand.

He wasn’t even certain how Bilbo knew his actual birthday. Still, the cupcake was delicious and the sugar high that resulted after they ate the entire dozen in one go led to a wonderful make out session.

He didn't stare at the ceiling that night.

-[]-[]-[]-

They moved to a double dorm for the summer semester and no one asked any questions. After all, Thorin Oak and Bilbo Underhill don’t have any family to visit. They don’t have anything to distract them from school.

They are finally given a date for the trial a week later. Bilbo woke Thorin up, screaming in the middle of the night.

Thorin crawled into bed beside him and held him close, murmuring into his skin until Bilbo was no longer trembling with sobs. Thorin's own tears were never shed. 

-[]-[]-[]-

“What do you even intend to do with a history degree?” Bilbo asked late one evening when the room was too hot and the summer too bright. They'd ribbed each other all day about their areas of study. Bilbo was studying early English literature, and that was just odd.

“Nothing.” Bilbo’s brow wrinkles in confusion as he tugged at his shirt, hoping for some cool air.

“Then why-”

“My father will turn the family business over to me when he retires. The history degree is for my interest. It is the one thing my father let me have before my duty came.” He shrugged and sat on his bed. “I won’t ever use it, but I can have a degree in something I love. It was an agreeable deal.”

The room grew quiet while Bilbo digested that. The quiet slip of fabric was the only sound in the room as Thorin discarded his outer shirt.

“You never touch me.”

“I touch you frequently.” Thorin corrected quietly as he tugged his boot off. They were similar to the ones he’d been wearing when the crime had happened. He’d found them at a thrift shop off campus and had bought them right up. He’d never been in a thrift shop before -his father would have balked at the mere idea of going somewhere so poor- but Bilbo loved them and Thorin had somehow found himself being dragged along.

He’d never admit how very little Bilbo had to drag him anywhere.

“Not the way I’m talking about.” Bilbo said pointedly. Thorin lifted his gaze to see Bilbo sitting on his bed bare chested and in nothing but his old, frayed jeans. He was always more open and honest than Thorin. He didn’t hold his emotions close to his heart unless they were about his family.

Thorin swallowed and tried to think of something else Bilbo might have meant. His ears had always betrayed him, and even now he could feel them burning as his heart skipped and beat off rhythm.

Bilbo slipped off the bed and went to stand in front of Thorin, they were nearly eye level with the height difference. “It isn’t a fling, you know. We... neither of us have a home, or anyone else, but that’s not why I do it.”  Bilbo shook his head and sighed. “Look, Thorin, I didn't actually want to talk about your restraint." He shook his head again, correcting himself suddenly. "I mean, I do and I would like more, but that's not what I really wanted to say." Thorin watched with some curiosity and a little worry as Bilbo visibly collected himself, squaring his shoulders and trying to stand taller. “Thing is, I’m fairly certain I’m in love with you.”

Thorin’s face slipped into a neutral expression as his brain shot into overdrive. It was crazy, could ruin their friendship, could lead to far more pain, could result in a weakness he couldn’t afford-

Cool fingers touched his cheek. “Stop thinking,” Bilbo ordered with a tiny smile. “I’m not asking for anything. I’m just letting you know what’s happening.” His other hand found Thorin’s and twined their fingers together. “And I’m hoping you feel the same, and that I’m not just a warm body.”

Mind a sudden cool rush, Thorin tilted his head and kissed the fingers that were still against his cheek. He lifted Bilbo up and deposited him on the bed.

It wasn’t until he tried to shuck off his pants that he realized he’d never taken off his other boot. He swallowed up Bilbo’s resulting laughter and forgot about everything for a short while.

-[]-[]-[]-

As it turns out, being a big member of a gang meant one had a fair few enemies.

The agents, whose names Thorin couldn’t be bothered to remember, spoke calmly in a monotone that Thorin had trouble believing.

There wasn’t going to be a trial. Their criminal had been stabbed in prison by another gang lackey.

“We’re going home?” Bilbo asked quietly, his voice small and vague. The agent nodded his head, grey hair glistening under the florescent lights.

His hand finds Bilbo suddenly and holds on tightly. “We have a plane set up for you first thing tomorrow. Your families will meet you at the airport.”

Home… His family would be there and he would be in his apartment again… He could hold his nephews and listen to Frerin ramble on for hours. He could walk around his room once more and go wherever he wished. 

Bilbo’s hand tightened around his and Thorin’s stomach swooped. Underhill or Baggins, Oak or Durin, they were still Bilbo and Thorin.

They walked out of the office, free, and together. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a prompt by a friend who said I couldn't write modern Thilbo. They requested this story line and I went for it. It is extremely hard not to use the word 'hobbit' or 'dwarf' when referring to them. The title and opening quote are from the story 'The Things they Carried' by Tim O'Brien. 
> 
> I obviously don't really know anything about Witness protection. If I've made any large, glaring errors, please let me know :)
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
